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It was not time yet to speak what he had in his heart to say, and what quivered on his tongue. So he only asked abruptly: "You will go with me to-morrow night for one of your gayest frolics, will you not? We will go down on the Corso for all the Mocoletti fun. I am very anxious to be in another of your good times." "O, would you like it?" said Mae; "I am so glad. I should delight in it.
Oh, how I do long for Carnival," continued Mae, frankly and confidentially. "Don't you? I am like a child over it, I am trying already to persuade Eric that is my brother to take me down on the Corso the last night, for the Mocoletti. It would be much better fun than staying on our balcony." "Where is your balcony?" asked Bero, stroking his long moustaches.
"You're a strange child, indeed," replied Eric, the puzzled. "Your words are like lightning. I had just got melted down and ready to reply to your reminiscences by lots of others, and here you are all jolly and matter-of-fact again. I was growing so dreadfully unselfish that I should have insisted on staying home with you this evening to cheer you up a bit." "And give up the mocoletti! Why, Eric!
"What is the row now?" he thought. "What a child it is, anyway. She has had the mocoletti fun in her mind since we left America, and now she throws it away. Well, there's no help for it; I'm booked for Miss Rae. I'll get Eric to see if Mae's really ill. I wonder if she's afraid of me, because she cried last night, afraid I took that big tear for more than it was worth.
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